Betrayal
by ForgetfulMangoes
Summary: England felt his life collapsing right in front of his eyes ever since America's independence. He really didn't think that his life could get any worse, but of course, he was dead wrong. USUK, abusive ScotEng, Yaoi, Dark themes (Rape, Envy, Abuse, and Incest).
1. Chapter 1

**Summary** - England felt his life collapsing right in front of his eyes ever since America's independence. He didn't think that his life could get any worse, but of course, he was dead wrong. USUK, Yaoi, OOC, Dark themes (Rape, Envy, Depression, Abuse, and Incest).

**Pairings - **UsUk, GerIta, forced ScotUk, and more to be determined or altered.

**Warnings - **Yaoi, OOC (it can't be helped), Rape, Abuse, Forced incest, Depression, Language, Angst, Memory Loss, and Sexual themes.

**Rating - **M. It's a yaoi after all, and a dark and depressing one at that. :-)

I don't own Hetalia!

**Author's notes - **This has got to be the most sadistic story I've ever written. Like, by far the most sadistic and cruel. England will be the one to get all of the torture, even though he's one of the main characters and my favorite character. To get to happiness, you must first beat the obstacles! Haha, this story isn't even historically accurate... ; u ; But, of course, my brain decided to formulate this on its own. I just can't get it out of my head... Curse you brain! So, here I am. I don't really know if I'll continue this because it's kind of a weird, dark story. The warnings should already tell you a lot about how messed up it is. xD Tell me what you think about this story and whether I should continue it or not?

* * *

**Chapter 1 - The Revolutionary War (Prologue)**

The rain fell down from the darkened sky in large rivulets, huge crystal droplets splashing onto the dirt landscape with dull plonking sounds.

Two men stood across from each other, engaged in a subtle staring competition. The dirty-blonde haired man, dressed in the traditional red, white, and blue militia outfit of the American patriot, pointed his musket in the direction of the blonde red-coat. Unlike the Briton, the American had a legion of soldiers, ready to shoot at his command.

England stared at the American straight across from him with a look that spoke of hurt and betrayal. His normally bright emerald eyes were narrowed and darkened with sorrow and his impressive eyebrows were tightly furrowed together. The Briton bit his lip, digging the heel of his boots deeper into the muddy floor, and clutching onto his musket as if his life depended on it. In truth, his life did depend on it. America could fire anytime and potentially kill him. The other soldiers couldn't do to much damage, since only a nation could vanquish another nation, but it would still hurt. Even worse was that he was alone, thousands of his troops gone from the bloody battles that had happened beforehand. He was the last one remaining out of all them. England narrowed his eyes even further, feeling his body start to shake, whether it be from the cold rain or from anger, he didn't know.

America gazed back at the now-shaking Englishman with a look of pure anguish on his normally jovial face. He did feel a bit guilty for making England look so sad, but it was for everyone's good. It would turn out to be the best choice in the end. America craved freedom and equality. He wanted to be seen as an equal to England, to not be looked down upon as just a younger brother. He didn't need to be protected anymore. He also wanted his people to be free of the harsh taxes that England's boss had set upon them. It wasn't England's fault for that, but America knew that he had to do something about it. England's boss was the man that had set the taxes after all.

America narrowed his eyes, his hand shaking slightly as he kept the musket pointed directly at the other man, poised to shoot at any given second. He knew that he couldn't shoot his ex-guardian, but he could at least pretend for the sake of his soldiers.

"Hey, England..." America spoke up, his voice soft, yet cold at the same time. It held no visible emotion to it.

He waited a few seconds to see if the Englishman would answer. Instead, all he got was an expression that spoke of betrayal, those emerald eyes swirling with anger and despair. It was to be expected. After all, what was he expecting to get?

America breathed in and continued, "After all, I want freedom! I'm no longer a child nor your little brother! From now on, I'll become independent from you!"

England felt his heart break into a million pieces at that very moment. He knew that this was the main source of the war, but it hurt even more to have it spat in his face. It was evident that America disliked him. No, hated him. The bond that they had shared before didn't even matter now. He knew that he should let the American be free, but he just couldn't. He wanted America to stay with him. He couldn't let go, and he wouldn't until the end. America was his little brother! Or, maybe something more... America would stay part of his empire. He just had to!

Without a second thought in mind, England charged towards the American, his musket poised to strike.

America's cerulean-blue eyes widened and he quickly held his musket up in self defense. He wasn't prepared for England's sudden outburst at all, the older nation was normally civilized and calm. The red-coat's weapon smashed into the patriot's, causing the latter's weapon to fly up into the sky on land onto the floor a few feet away with a loud splash. _  
_

England panted for breath as he kept his emerald eyes trained on America. "This is why... I say you don't follow things through the end, you dummy..."

America kept his face stoic as he stared at the musket that was a few inches from his face. He couldn't act fearful, but in truth, he kind of was. Would England really shoot?

"Fire!" a soldier called from the front of the group. All the American patriots posed to shoot at England, but none actually did. They all waited for the call from America to shoot at the blonde red-coat, knowing that they might accidentally hit their general.

England breathed in slowly, feeling tears start to prick in his eyes. He lowered his musket, albeit shakily. He couldn't shoot America much less kill the younger man. "T-There's no way I could shoot you... You dummy!"

The Briton slammed his own musket onto the floor in anguish before falling onto his knees. He felt the squishy mud beneath his body, soiling his suit even further, but he didn't care. He started to sob as he covered his face with one of his pale hands, in a futile attempt to cover his own tears that were mixing with the falling rain.

"Dammit! Why?! Why can't I shoot you?!" he cried out, already knowing the answer to the question. America was the one thing that England treasured the most. All the times they spent together, all the times they had fought, all the times they would comfort each other. Even though England hadn't been the best of brothers, he had tried his hardest. Why was America so damn ungrateful?! More and more tears slid down England's face as he sobbed all his frustration and sorrow out.

America stared at England, his face straining to maintain forced neutrality, but a shred of sorrow still managed to make its way through.

"England..." America trailed off. His eyes widened as he recalled old memories that he didn't need to remember at this moment.

_"Let's go home," England gave a kind smile as he extended his hand to kid America. _

_America stared up at the Englishman with a look of affection in his big, expressive blue eyes. Eagerly, he held his hand out and exclaimed, "Okay!"_

_Their hands intertwined and America knew that he was safe and sound. He was always safe when he was with England. _

America pursed his lips and stared at the sobbing blonde on the floor. In a soft, emotionless voice, he said, "You used to be so great..."

England started to sob even harder than before. He kept his head down and eyes shut. He didn't want to see America's expression towards him. It was probably one of content and mock to the older nation's submission.

Instead, America gave a sad smile, his blue eyes starting to prick with forming tears. He shook them off and turned to his troops. "Lets go... We're done here."

* * *

England didn't know how much time passed before he woke up, his now-numb body still in the same position as it had been before he fell unconscious. The rain had stopped and the sky was now a clear blue. Shakily, England stood up and brushed off the mud on his coat as best he could. He ran a hand through his wet hair and stumbled over to grab his musket that was lying on the muddy floor.

Strangely, he felt no emotion at all. Life just felt surreal to him. He knew for a fact that the war wasn't just a made-up dream. America had left him, had betrayed him. Their bond was severed and it would never be healed. Yet somehow, he didn't feel any type of negative emotion. He just felt dead on the inside.

The Englishman tightened his grip on the dirtied musket and scanned the area around him. He knew that he was north of Yorktown, but how far away was the town itself? He had to contact his boss, to tell the King that he had lost the final battle and that America was now free of British rule. There was no doubt that the king would be angry, but what was there to do about it?

With shaky legs, England started to head South. He knew that if he was to go to Yorktown, he would get thrown out by the colonists, and there was always the chance that a certain American was there.

England kept a steady pace, feeling the mud squish under his combat boots. He made sure to not step on any of the corpses that littered the floor, corpses of dead troops sprawled on the floor, most of them being British troops. As he walked by, he gazed with dead emerald eyes at all the bloody gunshot wounds, gruesome stab wounds, amputated limbs, and all sorts of other horrors. The Briton pursed his lips into a thin line. Was the war really worth it in the end? All the human lives that have been lost because of a feud between two nations. Every single red-coat that was brought under his command was dead.

Before he knew it, tears slipped out of his emerald eyes and slid down his pale cheeks. It wasn't worth it. The war was stupid and unneeded. If only he had given America freedom instead of declaring war. If only England's boss hadn't decided to lay unwanted taxes on the colonists. It was never America's fault. It was all his fault. He had been too controlling to the younger nation.

_'If you love something, let it go.'_ England bit his lip and wiped the tears off of his face with a muddy sleeve. If he wasn't so selfish, none of this would have happened... Not only had he costed the lives of many, he had broken America's trust. He desperately wanted to lay the blame on the American for leaving him, but that wasn't the truth at all. America did leave him, did break the bond that they had together, but there was reason to.

"Dammit!" England yelled, slamming his musket onto the floor and stomping on it in a fit of rage. He had feelings for America, feelings that he couldn't ignore. He had always felt more than brotherly love to America, but he always passed it off as a filial bond. It was too late to say anything about it. America hated him, but he loathed himself even more. If only he wasn't so stupid...

* * *

America sighed as he arrived at Yorktown with his troops to spread the word of the winning of the war. He was finally a free nation. He was now an equal to England and all the other nations.

The American's heart thumped painfully in his chest at the thought of the blonde Brit. The look of anguish in the other's nation eyes, the falling of those crystalline tears down those flawless pale cheeks. He knew that he had hurt the older nation with both his words and his actions, but he had to do it. In time, maybe he could make up with England and forge the bond that had been destroyed between them only hours earlier. Maybe they could even become something more. Secretly, he had always wanted that with his ex-guardian or brother as England liked to be called.

America didn't want to seen as a brother. He didn't want to be seen as family, but he knew that England only held those feelings for him. America knew that England had only broken down because of him severing their long-time family bond. England didn't see him as an equal. He saw the American as a little brother that had to be protected from all the "terrors" of the world. But now, he was an equal to the older nation. He could finally be acknowledged as someone who doesn't need anyone to supported all their life.

"General," a masculine voice from behind him whispered.

America turned around to the soldier and asked, "Yes?"

"Would you like us to round up all the people in the town to exclaim the news of our victory?" the soldier questioned.

"Alright." America nodded. He gazed at the bucolic town around him before turning to his awaiting troops. "Round up everyone to the center of the town for the good news of our victory."

The American troops nodded and left in all different directions to alert the inhabitants, leaving America to wander around by himself.

The strawberry blonde strolled through the town, staring at all the small, rustic homes made of wood. They were nothing like the home that he had lived in with England. Well, mostly with England. Sometimes the older nation had to leave to him for months at a time to deal with problems in his home country. The homes of the colonists were a lot more simple and a lot less elegant compared the huge mansion that he was accustomed to. But, the homes seemed to be a lot more welcoming and not nearly as abandoned.

America soon found himself smiling bitterly at the memory of his old home. He quickly replaced the bitter smile with one full of joy and happiness. He had won the battle after all. He had the right to be happy, to be glad.

The American strolled through the town, looking for a place to sit down. He knew that he had a few minutes or maybe half an hour max to think over what had happened only hours earlier. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, he spotted an old wooden bench at the side of a blacksmith's shop and hurried over to sit down to collect his jumbled thoughts.

_'England was never there for me, wasn't he?'_ America thought, memories of the Brit leaving him flashing through his head._ 'He always had to go. He left for years, leaving me alone... He never even saw me grow up.'_ America pursed his lips in anger._ 'He was never there for me... He probably didn't care for me either. I was just another one of his subjects.'_

A memory flashed through America's mind at that thought.

_"What are those?" little America asked with big, gleaming blue eyes as he stared at the box that was handed to him by England. _

_"It's a present," England replied, ruffling America's unruly, straw-colored hair. "Open it."_

_America nodded and fumbled to open the box with his tiny hands. Eventually, he managed to open it. He peeked inside and found wooden figurines and various other toys. America's eyes widened and he gave a cute smile. "Thank you! I love them!"_

_England laughed. "I'm glad that you like them."_

America bit his lip. He mentally slapped himself for being so stupid. England did care about him! Why else would the older nation go out of his way to give presents to someone that he didn't like? _'England... I'm sorry, but it's for your own good... It's the best choice in the end, believe me.' _

"General Alfred, sir," a soldier spoke up, scaring America out of his thoughts.

"Yes?" America asked, staring up at the soldier.

"We've rounded up all of the inhabitants to the center of the town. They're waiting for you to announce the news."

"Sorry about that! Ahaha..." America smiled sheepishly before standing up and jogging to the crowd of civilians. He rushed up to the front of the crowd, nearly tripping on a rock along the way. Man, that would have been really embarrassing.

The crowd's voices died down as America cleared his throat to announce the news.

"Ahem... As of October 19th, 1781, we are free of British rule! We are now our own independent nation!" America exclaimed.

The crowd of colonists cheered in response to the great news.

America gave a bright smile, but he was feeling anything but happy on the inside.

**-End of Chapter 1-**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary** - England felt his life collapsing right in front of his eyes ever since America's independence. He didn't think that his life could get any worse, but of course, he was dead wrong. USUK, Yaoi, OOC, Dark themes (Rape, Envy, Depression, Abuse, and Incest).

**Pairings - **UsUk, GerIta, forced ScotUk, Spamano, and more to be determined or altered.

**Warnings - **Yaoi, OOC (it can't be helped), Rape, Abuse, Forced incest, Depression, Language, Angst, Memory Loss, and Sexual themes.

**Rating - **M. It's a yaoi after all, and a dark and depressing one at that. :-) It'll get better though!

I don't own Hetalia!

**Author's notes - **Thanks to the people who reviewed! xD I appreciate it, a lot. :-) Okay, this chapter is rather slow and it isn't as angsty as the first chapter. The next chapter is when the real action starts and it's also when Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland make their appearance! This story is going to start becoming really dark, and Iggy will be the one who gets all of it. Dx Both physically and mentally...

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Aftermath and Meetings**

**-Six months later-**

America stood in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection to make sure that he looked presentable for the World Meeting. It was his first meeting after all, and he did want to make a good impression. He wondered how all the nations were like, if they were all cold and serious like England was, whenever he thought America wasn't around. If that was the case, then America had to step up his game. He hoped that they were at least nice people, at heart. Like the way England was to him.

_'England...'_ America bit his lip, feeling his heart start to pound in his chest. He hadn't seen the blonde Briton in six months, ever since the end of the war for America's independence. Today was the day where America would have to face his ex-guardian. Part of him was excited to see how England was doing, but the other part of him dreaded it. Was England going to act the same to him as before? America frowned. Probably not. No, absolutely not. There was no way that England would act like the war had never happened. Their old, loving relationship may never be the same. It was probably already obliterated.

England would probably look at America with those same eyes that spoke of betrayal. Those beautiful emerald eyes that used to be filled with warmth, now filled with outrage and disbelief. America was afraid of what he was going to have to face when he gets to the meeting. Knowing his ex-guardian well enough, America would guess that England would either try to strangle him or ignore him, flashing looks of hurt from time to time. America hoped for the first, just because he would have a chance to actually speak to the Englishman.

America shook off those depressing thoughts of his ex-guardian and forced a smile on his face. He ran a hand through his sandy-brown locks in an futile attempt to smooth his hair out, of course, Nantucket just wouldn't stay down. He then smoothed out his bomber jacket and pulled on his combat boots, trying his hardest to distract himself from a certain blonde man. He didn't want to think about England and the forceful separation that had happened between them. He did wonder though... Does England really hate him now?

"Okay! Time to go!" America exclaimed aloud, pumping his fist into the air in fake joy. With one last look at his rather neat reflection, America stepped out of his room and headed outside, ignoring the way his hands started to tremble or how his heart wouldn't stop pounding heavily in his chest. He wasn't nervous... He was a hero after all! Heroes don't get nervous!

* * *

England laid in bed, his thin, malnourished body sprawled on the warm mattress. It's been a horrible six months for the blonde Briton. He had barely eaten anything besides the occasional burnt scone and cup of tea, rather he had been drinking out his sorrows, causing his old lithe frame to be replaced with a skinny, bony frame. It also didn't help that he barely had the energy to open his eyes, much less do anything productive.

_'I'm so pathetic...'_ England thought bitterly, feelings tears rise up, blurring his already disoriented vision. _'I bet America's out there, happy and joyful that I'm not there to nag him about every single thing.'_ England bit his lip, feeling his heart start to ache again and tears to come sliding down from his emerald eyes onto the bed.

With nearly all his energy, England forced himself into a sitting position. He hadn't eaten in over a week and his body was begging him to eat, yet he didn't want to. He just wanted to die, to not have to deal with life anymore. But, that was impossible. He couldn't die because he was a nation, and nations are nearly immortal, only until all their people perish and their land burned to the ground. It was nearly impossible for England to perish because his empire was still going strong.

Well, it works both ways. The people are what keeps the nation whole, yet the nation is also the one who keeps the people alive and well. England knew that some of his citizens were suffering because of the way he was treating his body, but he was too much in grief to do anything about it. He didn't want to do anything about it.

England pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair. He had a weird feeling that he was forgetting to do something important. But, what was it? He couldn't figure it out.

_'What day is it today...?'_ England thought, forcing himself to get out of bed. With shaky legs, he stepped over to his calender, nearly tripping on his own feet, much like a drunk would. He stared at the calendar before his eyes landed on a distinct date that was underlined using a pencil. It read, World Meeting at 8:00 AM, April 21st.

England's eyes widened. Today was supposed to be the meeting? How could he have forgotten? He had to go...

_'No, I don't...'_ England narrowed his eyes. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to face any of the nations. They would probably laugh at him or give him questioning glances as to why he looked horrible. England knew for a fact that France would probably rub the fact that America had left him in his face. America... That blasted little boy.

America was going to be there, for sure. After all, he was a newly established nation and most nations are needed to go to the conferences. This meeting was probably America's first, and most definitely not his last. Even more than before, England didn't want to go, didn't want to face the newly independent nation. Maybe he could get his brothers to go in his place... Forever.

England didn't want to face the American, now or ever. It just hurt too much to see the little kid that he loved so dearly turn on him and betray him. Every time he thought back on the war, his heart would pound in his chest and his eyes would tear up, much to chagrin. He knew that the betraying of a colony would happen because of how many he owned, but America's betrayal... It was unexpected and it hurt more than anything else. If any of his other colonies were to leave him, of course he would fight to keep them, but their betrayal wouldn't hurt as much as America's betrayal did.

_'I'm never going to another meeting ever again...'_ England felt more sorrow build up in his chest. _'Not like any of the nations would even care about my well being. Most of them hate me anyways.'_

England gave a bitter, raspy laugh as he made his way to his liquor cabinet. Since he wasn't going to the meeting, he might as well drink his sorrows out. Alcohol always made him feel better. It was the only way he could escape reality and be in his own little world. He also didn't have to worry about anyone barging into his house because, after all, no one cared for England. Not even his brothers cared.

* * *

"_Amerique!_" France exclaimed, joyously, the second America walked into the conference room.

America stared at France with a smile before he felt a warm hand latch onto his ass. He gave an unmanly yelp before smacking the intruding hand off his butt. "What the heck was that?!"

"I couldn't resist _Amerique_. You've grown into such a handsome young man even more so than during the French and Indian War." France gave America a lustful look, that could only be translated to creepy yet somehow attractive.

America flinched at the mention of the war, remembering the screaming of the soldiers, the sounds of the gunshots, and the sight of bloodied soldiers on the verge of death. War was a horrible thing and it normally left many innocent people dead. It also left a bunch of broken hearts and tears to be shed. War was a terrible thing, and the only reason why America was now independent was because of it.

"Hm... Are you okay, _Amerique?"_ France asked, giving America a quizzical look. The American looked somewhat scared, but at the same time, dazed.

"I'm fine! I'm a hero after all!" America blinked then gave a wide grin when he realized that he had spaced out.

"Right..." France trailed off, pursing his thin lips. "Well, you should introduce yourself to everyone. Mm, by the way, you're late by half an hour."

America gave another sheepish smile before staring at all the nations in the room. Most of them didn't even look like they cared about this meeting.

One nation was sleep. Another two were arguing with each other, well one of them was arguing, the other was giving a soft smile to the other. Another nation, seated next to the arguing pair, was eating a bowl of pasta and making little moaning noises. In the back of the room, a female nation was bashing an albino nation on the head with a steel pan. Weirdest of all, it seemed that England wasn't present in the room.

"Uh..." America trailed off before clearing his throat, loudly.

A few of the nations stared up at him, finally noticing a new presence in the room.

"Hey! Uhm, I'm America and I'm the newest nation or country or whatever you guys are!"

"Nice to meet you, America-san. I'm Japan," a quiet, masculine voice said. It was coming from an Asian man at the front with dark hair and hazel eyes.

"Nice to meet you too!" America gave a grin.

"I'm Russia," a tall man with purple eyes and white-blonde hair said in an innocent tone that contrasted greatly with his aura that spoke of death and pain. "I hope that one day you could join with me, da."

America shivered and gave a shaky smile in return.

"China, aru," an androgynous man with long black hair tied into a low ponytail spoke up. He was seated right next to the scary Russian man, and he didn't seem to be the least bit disturbed. Maybe he was just a good actor. Russia was damn scary and everyone knew it.

"Ve~ I'm Italy!" a soft voice rang out from across the room. It was the nation that was eating a bowl of pasta. He had soft brown hair with a strange curl peaking from the top and eyes that were kept shut, for whatever reason. Maybe he couldn't see? America didn't know.

"I'm Spain," a man with tanned skin and messy, dark hair said in a kind, patient tone of voice. He grabbed nudged the young man next to him, causing the latter to squawk indignantly. It was the pair of nations who were arguing like little kids, well one of them anyways.

"Don't touch me you tomato bastard!" Italy's brother snapped, giving Spain an outraged glare.

Spain gave a kind smile in return before saying, "Introduce yourself to the new nation."

"Make me, asshole!" Romano gave a huff before slouching down on his chair.

"I'm going to grab your curl if you don't," Spain said, his tone kind but his words threatening.

Almost immediately, Romano stiffened. He opened his mouth to retort, but decided against it. Instead, he glanced upwards at the confused American with a snicker before saying, "I'm Romano, bastard. Italy's brother. Remember it."

America stared at Romano with a weird look before he registered what the Italian had said about him. "Hey, I'm not a bastard! I'm a hero!"

"Shut up." Romano gave a pout and slid further down his chair.

America just blinked. What was he to say now?

"Don't worry, he's always like that," France whispered, hotly into America's ear, startling the latter. "But, he's still so cute!"

"Er..." America didn't know what to say or do. These people were just crazy! He had expected the nations to be sane, civilized beings that were wise from years of experience. Apparently not.

"Oh! I'm Hungary," a girl with long, brown hair with a orange flower clipped to the side exclaimed from the back, all the while smacking the albino on the head with a frying pan.

"Ouch! Stop hurting the awesome me, Prussia!" Prussia exclaimed, covering in the corner of the room. A small, yellow bird flew next to him, just far enough to not be hit by the frying pan. It seemed to be smiling, if birds can smile. "Gilbird, help me!"

A man with short, wavy dark hair and violet eyes gave a huff of annoyance. "Stop being an idiot, Prussia."

"Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about! The Awesome me is never an idiot! You're the idiot, Austria!" Prussia exclaimed, only to have the frying pan smack onto his head, harder than before.

"Don't call Roderich an idiot!" Hungary hissed, giving Prussia a deadly glare.

Prussia burst into laughter. "W-Whatever you say, sweet cakes."

Hungary's green eyes twitched with anger and she smashed the frying pan on Prussia's head, yet again.

"Ouch! Are you trying to bash my head in?!" Prussia asked, rubbing at his head.

"Maybe." Hungary gave an innocent smile.

"Uhm, is someone going to stop them?" America asked France with a befuddled expression.

_BAM!_ _BAM! BAM!_

"Stop fighting you morons and get one with the meeting!" an enraged, male voice spoke up. A rather short, blonde male dressed in a militia uniform gave a glare to everyone in the room as he cocked his gun.

"Looks like Switzerland did," France replied with a wrinkle of his nose as he stared at the pieces of falling ceiling.

Hungary crossed her arms in anger and said, "Fine! I'm done for now!" She gave Prussia an angry look that spoke of annoyance. "Stop annoying Austria or I'll really smash your head in next time!"

"Okay! I got it!" Prussia exclaimed, rolling his blood-red eyes. "Not my fault Austria is an-"

"Finish that sentence and you'll die," Hungary threatened, her green eyes gleaming with promises of death.

Prussia puffed out his cheeks and crossed his arms as he sat on the floor. His head was starting to feel really dizzy all of a sudden and there was a faint ringing noise in his head. The silverette struggled to get to his feet, but ended up falling back on the floor.

A few of the other nations snickered at Prussia, namely Romano and Hungary. Others just didn't care enough to pay attention, or they were asleep, like Greece.

A tall blonde-haired man stood up out of his chair near the back of the table and with a sigh, walked over to Prussia and helped him up.

"Thanks West!" Prussia gave a lop-sided grin.

"Stop being an idiot, bruder." The German man gave another sigh before saying, "Let's start the meeting. We're off schedule by an hour."

"One last thing before we start. Does anyone know where _Angleterre_ went?" France asked, heading over to sit down on his seat. He then gestured for America to sit on the empty seat next to him.

A chorus of "no" swept through the room.

France gave a small frown. "How odd. _Angleterre_ never misses a conference. He's always the first one to get here too."

"Maybe England-san is sick," Japan spoke up.

"He would have called in before the meeting if he was sick..." France frowned before turning to look at America. "Have you seen _Angleterre_ lately?"

America felt his heart start to pound at the mention of England. "Er. No, I haven't seen him since... you know."

France gave an understanding nod before putting a hand to his chin. "Hm..."

"Can we just start the meeting already?!" an angry voice exclaimed. "Before I shoot you all?!"

"I was just going to start, Switzerland," Germany, holding a stack of papers, turned to face the irritated blonde nation. The German man cleared his throat to start his speech before the door burst open revealing a boy that looked almost exactly like America except that he was holding a bear and the latter wasn't.

"Wait! Sorry that I'm late!" Canada exclaimed, panting for breath.

Of course, no one had heard him.

"I propose an idea for a new invention that would allow..." Germany went on about his plan, causing many of the nations to end up falling sound asleep. Germany, being used to this, gave a sigh and kept on speaking, his voice more loud and forceful than before.

America gave a small frown as he tried his hardest to listen to what Germany was saying. It was a lot harder said than done, though. As much as America tried to pay attention, he couldn't. The fact that England didn't seem to be present was pestering him nonstop. Why wasn't England here? According to France, England never misses a meeting... So, why wasn't the British man here today? America didn't know.

**-End of Chapter 2-**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary** - England felt his life collapsing right in front of his eyes ever since America's independence. He didn't think that his life could get any worse, but of course, he was dead wrong. USUK, Yaoi, OOC, Dark themes (Rape, Envy, Depression, Abuse, and Incest).

**Pairings - **UsUk, GerIta, forced ScotUk, Spamano, and more to be determined or altered.

**Warnings - **Yaoi, OOC (it can't be helped), Rape, Abuse, Forced incest, Depression, Language, Angst, Memory Loss, and Sexual themes.

**Rating - **M. It's a yaoi after all, and a dark and depressing one at that. :-) It'll get better though!

**Author's notes - **Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Wales finally make their appearance in this chapter~ :-) I hope you guys enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Brotherly Visit**

Scotland ran a hand through his fiery red locks in frustration as he downed a cup of scotch. He was downstairs in the living room of his mansion, thinking about what events had happened lately. Things weren't going so great for him and his brothers right this moment. The United Kingdom was crumbling by the minute and so was the British Empire! Ireland also found it to be a prime time to start rebelling. Great. Just what was his idiotic little British brother doing right now?

Scotland bit his lip and slammed the glass down onto the wooden table, creating a minuscule crack on the smooth exterior. "What in the world is wrong with Arthur?! We're fucking screwed if he doesn't get his butt back to work! Stupid little brother... Why the fuck are you dawdling around?!"

"Revolutionary war, duh!" Wales called from upstairs. "Didn't you hear, Scottie?"

"Yeah, I know. I was just talkin' to myself!" Scotland shouted back.

The red-head felt his eyes twitch from annoyance. Of course he understood the reason as to why Arthur was being a weakling. Well, he didn't understand, he just knew about the circumstances. The revolutionary war against America was the reason why the British Empire was crumbling. Arthur cared too much for the other nation and honestly, it pissed Scotland off. They were nations, not normal people. Emotions shouldn't get in the way of things.

Although they weren't close at all, Scotland still knew enough about his little brother to know why England was being so weak at this moment. England was always a sensitive boy who would hide his feelings for fear of rejection. He was also shy and rather socially retarded, but no one, except for him and his brothers, knew of that. England's true self was always covered by stoic calm and pride of being a strong nation.

Scotland guessed that England was being a bit too controlling to America because of his inability to communicate his feelings of affection well enough. It wasn't surprising to hear that that an uprising had happened. It still didn't make up for the fact that England didn't find it important enough to keep the empire well after _one_ nation had decided to declare his independence.

At this moment, Scotland _despised_ England. How could England give up his responsibilities as a nation because of feelings?! He was the fucking British Empire. He had all the fucking power in the world, power that Scotland wanted but couldn't have. It wasn't fair that the most naive and childish of the four brothers was the one to be the strongest.

It also wasn't fair that England was the British Empire because of their mother's choosing. Britannia had loved England the most out of all her sons. It was evident in the way she treated them all. She loved all of her sons, but England... England was on a whole new level. Britannia always gave most of her attention to England and it wasn't fair.

Britannia was a beautiful woman with long, silky sandy brown locks, blazing emerald eyes, and a long slender figure. She was also an extremely kind woman who had a big heart. She would have still been alive if England never decided to leave his family behind for Rome...

Scotland felt his heart skip a beat and his hands to clench in rage. Britannia's death was all England's fault. She wouldn't have died if England hadn't left with Rome, hadn't betrayed his own family for power.

Before Britannia had disappeared forever, she gave her blessing to England, believing him to be the strongest out of the four brothers. Scotland just couldn't understand the reasons why she would have chosen the Brit to be successor instead of him. He was the eldest brother and he was the strongest in physical body and heart. It should have been him, but it wasn't. That wasn't fair at all.

England had betrayed them and yet he still remained mother's favorite? How can that be? It also wasn't fair that out of all the brothers, England resembled Britannia the most. Both had big emerald eyes that sparkled with kindness in the blazing sun. Both had sandy blonde hair that was soft as silk. Both had smooth, flawless skin and slender figures that were the epitome of perfect. Every time Scotland looked at England, he could see his deceased mother. And... That hurt, a lot.

"Argh..." Scotland was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a sharp, stinging pain make its way into his head. He put a hand to his head and shut his eyes, waiting for the pain to ease. Eventually, it did, but it had made Scotland even angrier. Another uprising was starting because of Ireland. Fuck.

"Hey Scottie, did ya' get a headache too?" Wales called out.

"Yes... Ireland's starting something again and England's probably not going to do anything about it," Scotland stated with annoyance as he grabbed his bottle of scotch and started drinking from it. Using a cup took too much time.

"Great... At this point, if Artie decides to stay moping then we're fucked," Wales replied, stepping into the living room to find his elder brother downing a bottle of scotch. He was expecting that. Scotland's best way to cope with pressure was to drink.

"He's not going to do anything," Scotland replied, slamming the now empty bottle of scotch onto the table.

Wales gave a slight frown as he sat down next to his elder brother. "We have to do something about it then."

"Like what?" Scotland asked.

"Maybe we can go visit Artie and see what's up?" Wales suggested.

"We're visiting Arthur?" Northern Ireland questioned as he stepped into the living room, a confused expression on his face. "Oh... Did you guys feel the headache?"

"Yeah," Wales replied, motioning for Northern Ireland to sit down next to him. "Anyways, we should visit Arthur to see how he's doing."

"He doesn't like us." Scotland sniffed. "I doubt he'd let us in."

"We can kick down his door?" Norther Ireland suggested as he sat next to Wales on the old, leather couch.

Scotland scoffed. "He'd make you pay for breaking his door. I don't know about you, but I'm broke right now."

Wales pursed his lips. "We should visit him and try to talk some sense into him."

"What if that doesn't work?" Scotland questioned, giving Wales a questioning glance.

Wales gave a light frown as he toyed with a piece of his strawberry blonde locks. "We can always take over the British Empire ourselves."

"How?" Northern Ireland asked.

"Well... We can ask for it...?" Wales replied, a bit unsure of himself.

Scotland gave a smirk. "Asking won't do any good. Knowing our precious little brother, he'd be too selfish to give the authority to us. We'll have to take it from England if he insists on being a stubborn brat."

Northern Ireland nodded. "I agree with Scotland."

"How though? In what way will we get Arthur to give us the position?" Wales questioned.

"I know how..." Scotland trailed off, a gleam in his emerald eyes. It was the perfect chance for him to get a bit of power, power that he knew was supposed to be his. England was going to drive the empire into a ruin at this rate and the only way to stop it was to get someone competent to actually take over. "The empire will be ours."

Northern Ireland gave an excited nod in agreement.

Wales gave Scotland a quizzical look, noting the sinister gleam in the other's eyes. He knew that Scotland harbored a hatred towards England, more so than he and Northern Ireland. Scotland had always admired his mother and her death took a toll on the Scottish man's life. Nothing was the same after Britannia had perished. Scotland had become colder and harsher to everyone and everything. England had taken the full brunt of Scotland's anger in the Brit's younger years. Suddenly, Wales felt minuscule regret in suggesting them take over the Empire.

* * *

England sipped on a cup of hot Earl Grey tea as he sat on his soft, plush couch. He was decked out in a thin shirt and baggy shorts, things that he wouldn't dare wear outside of his home. Well, it wasn't like anyone was going to see him anyways. No one cared enough to actually check on him to see if he was still alive.

England supposed that he should be hurt that no one had bothered to come visit him, but honestly, he didn't really want anyone to see him. He didn't even want to talk to anyone because that would take away too much of the little energy he had left. Being alone was always the easiest option, but it was dreadfully boring.

England also knew that he should do start doing his overdue paperwork again, but he really didn't want to. So what if he was a nation? Couldn't the paperwork wait for a few days? Months? Years?

No, of course not. England gave a tired sigh. He should really start working again and think of a way to stop Ireland from rebelling again. Just thinking about it made him get a migraine. Great.

_Knock! Knock! Knock! _

England blinked in surprise as he lowered his cup of tea slowly onto the mahogany table. Someone actually had the heart to visit him? Well, that was weird... Maybe it was just the mail or something? Whatever the cause, England didn't feel the need to answer.

_Knock! Knock!_

England shut his eyes and snuggled into the soft plush of the couch.

_Knock!_

"Open up! Artie, I know that you're in there!" a loud, masculine voice shouted from outside.

_'S-Scotland? What the...?'_ England felt shock. Scotland was here? To visit him? What the hell was going on?

"Arthur, please open the door," Wale's cool, smooth voice called.

"Artie! Let us in!" Northern Ireland exclaimed.

England bit his lip. Why were they here? To pester him? To give him a family talk? To scream at him for being weak?

"I'm going to kick down the door if you don't answer in the next five seconds!" Scotland shouted. "And I'm not goin' to pay for it!"

"One."

"Two-"

England gave a soft sigh of annoyance as he stood up and headed over to the door. He wasn't going to pay for _another_ door. Sadly, it wasn't his first time hearing that threat and definitely not the last. "I'm coming."

"Then get on over here!"

England unlocked the door and swung it open to come face to face with a tall, muscular man who seemed to be around twenty six years of age. He had pale skin framed by messy, fiery-red locks. His eyes were a brilliant emerald color and his eyebrows were rather large. It didn't detract from his attractive, masculine appearance though. He was dressed in a red vest with a thin shirt under that accentuated his tautly muscled torso and casual pants.

Behind the red-haired man was a slender man who currently had a irritated expression on his face. He had short strawberry-blonde hair with bangs that were longer on one side than the other. His eyes too were a brilliant emerald color and his eyebrows were thick as well. He was two years younger than the red-head, but he still stood strong and attractive, dressed in formal wear.

Next to the strawberry-blonde was a slightly shorter man who looked as if he didn't want to be here. His short, messy hair was a darker shade than the other two and he had the same features as the other two men. The brunette was decked out in a light blue suit that was much like England's regular green outfit.

In other words, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland were at his door.

"Aye, Artie!" Scotland gave a smirk as he stared at his cute, confused little brother. "Long time no see."

"What are you three doing here?" England questioned, glaring at the three intruders.

"Here to see our younger brother of course!" Scotland gave a grin as he headed into England's pristine home.

"Hey!" England gave Scotland a glare. "Don't just come in without invitation!"

"You opened the door, no?" Scotland questioned, motioning for the other two to enter.

Northern Ireland gave a small smirk as he stepped into England's home. "Nice home."

Wales stared at England for a second, noting that the latter was a lot thinner and shades paler than how he had been the last time. America was the reason for that? Seriously?

"What are you looking at?" England questioned, furrowing his impressive eyebrows, as he kept his eyes trained on the floor in embarrassment. Was Wales judging him? He knew that he had gotten skinnier some, but was it that noticeable?

"Nothing," Wales answered before stepping into England's home.

England shut the door and turned to stare at the three. "Why are you three here? What do you want?"

"We were just wondering about your well being," Scotland replied, heading over to England's couch and seating himself down.

"Since when did you care about how I'm doing?" England questioned, narrowing his eyes at the red-headed man.

"Since a few hours ago," Scotland replied with a cocky grin.

England gave a sigh. Of course. "Whatever... Just sod off and leave me alone."

"England..." Wales put a hand on England's shoulder, noting how bony it was. England was really becoming weaker by the second, wasn't he? He was doing it to himself...

"What...?" England asked, glaring at Wales.

"Are you sure that you're fine? I mean... The Empire is crumbling and Ireland is rebelling and-"

"I know!" England blurted out, startling all three of his siblings. "I... I know!"

"Have you been doing anything to stop it?" Wales questioned.

"Uh..." England trailed off. "I-I..."

"What he means to say is no," Scotland spoke up. "Dear little brother, what's going on with you?"

"Are you even trying anymore?" Northern Ireland added in. "You don't seem like you care."

England felt his face flush red with anger. "Of course I'm trying! I-"

"You're not," Scotland cut in with a sneer. "You're just moping around and doing absolutely nothing."

"I'm-"

"Weak. I can't believe that you're the one who's the British Empire as opposed to me," Scotland said, giving a small chuckle, as he leaned on his hand.

"You're useless. You can't even keep the Empire up. The UK is also suffering because of you..." Northern Ireland said, running a hand through his brown locks.

England bit his lip and trained his eyes onto the wooden floor. They were are ganging up on him... Did they really hate him that much? He's their younger brother, not some stranger! But, it's always been this way. They _never_ liked him and they probably _never_ will.

"Vulnerable."

"Weak."

Wales opened his mouth to say something, but promptly closed it. Was insulting England really the right way to go?

"Naive little boy."

"Waste of-"

"Shut up!" England shouted, startling them all. "Shut up all of you wankers! Shut up!"

Scotland gave a sneer. "Then... give us the position of the British Empire and we'll leave you alone. You're not fit to hold the position."

England clenched his fists. "What... What makes you think that you should hold the position?! If you were the be the bloody British Empire then you'll screw everything up within a month!"

"England, it's for the best," Wales spoke up. "The state that you're in right now isn't the best for the UK."

England smacked Wales' hand off of his shoulder and hissed, "So this is why you guys came... You guys really hate me, don't you all?"

"Arthur-"

"We do hate you," Scotland replied with a sneer. "For everything that you've done."

"Allistor-"

"Shut up, Dylan," Scotland said before he stood up and grabbed England's shirt, pulling the Brit closer to him.

England struggled against Scotland's death grip. "You bloody git! Let go of me!"

"One last chance. Let us be the British Empire or there will be consequences," Scotland hissed, a sneer fixed on his handsome face.

"Never," England hissed.

Scotland gave a knowing sigh and punched England in the gut with his free hand, causing the younger nation to cough and promptly pass out. He then threw the unconscious Brit onto the floor with an expression of disgust. "Weak... One punch and he's unconscious?"

"I agree," Northern Ireland said. "I thought that he'd last for at least a few more."

"He's getting weaker," Wales spoke up. "You can see how skinny he is compared to the last time we saw him."

"True..." Northern Ireland trailed off before giving Scotland a confused look. "Uh... I just don't understand. I know that the whole point of the visit was to make England submit so we could take over, but what will happen when he wakes up?"

Scotland gave a deep laugh.

Wales glanced at England, feeling chills run down his spine as he stared at his unconscious little brother who was slumped onto the clean, wooden floor.

"We'll just wipe our dear little brother's memory and keep him as a plaything for our amusement," Scotland answered before he gave a rather attractive smirk. "It shouldn't be too hard. I already know how to do the spell, but I need you two to be there too."

_'Plaything for our amusement...? England?'_ Wales blinked in confusion. "What do you mean by plaything...?"

Scotland stared at Wales with amused emerald eyes. "I'm saying that we're going to keep England around for fun. Since he's no longer needed when we take over, England could just be around for our entertainment. We could work him as a slave or something. Hm... We need to pretend to kill him off too."

"But... He's our brother!" Wales exclaimed, feeling a bit alarmed.

"He betrayed us for Rome," Scotland snapped in annoyance. "That's good enough for me."

Wales bit his lip. "But..."

"You're the one who suggested it," Northern Ireland pointed out.

"Yeah... But..." Wales trailed off before giving a sigh. He remembered what England had done to break up their happy family. Britannia was dead and Scotland became crueler... All because of England. The Englishman _deserved_ what was coming to him. "Alright... I'll go along with your plan. What shall we do now?"

Scotland glanced at England with hatred burning in his eyes. He was going to make the blonde man _suffer._ "We just need to get to the Stonehenge first. Then, we can perform the memory lock spell. Afterwards, we could conjure up a fake corpse and place it back in this home in order to show that England is dead. It'll be easier if no one is out trying to find him, if anyone would."

Wales nodded. "Alright."

"One last thing," Scotland said. "I'll be the one in charge of the British Empire. Any objections?"

Northern Ireland gave a shrug. "I don't really care. It seems like a lot of work."

"I don't really care. If you want the position then take it," Wales replied, truthfully. He knew that even if he was to object, Scotland would just shut him up. No reason to start another argument.

"Alright then, I guess that's settled," Scotland said before he turned to the unconscious England and back to his younger siblings. "Pick him off the floor, will ya?"

Northern Ireland nodded before he stepped towards his little brother. "Alright. I'll carry him. You two don't need to help. He probably weighs like a hundred pounds max from what I can tell..."

"Wait... So, you're going to the world conferences right?" Wales questioned. "I really don't want to go to the meetings and have to hear boring talk about current world events. That would be a horrid waste of time."

Scotland nodded. "I'll be going. It'd be nice to see how all the other nations are doing... It'd be even nicer to have them hate on our little brother. England isn't very popular from what I've heard. He is rather cold and bad-tempered."

"I totally agree," Northern Ireland said as he stared at England. "You do have to admit though, England is rather cute... Surely there must be _some_ nations that like him. "

_'Because he looks like Britannia.'_ Scotland gave a rough laugh. "Doesn't change his personality though."

"That's true." Northern Ireland gave a sigh.

Wales pursed his lips. "Well, let's get out of his house before someone does come and visit."

Scotland gave a smirk. "No one will visit him. Anyways, we should go."

_'The British Empire is finally mine...'_ Scotland felt oddly giddy on the inside. He had always believed that England's power should have been his. He was the eldest and strongest brother after all. He also didn't betray his family for stupid, perverted Rome. He couldn't wait to feel his power and dominance over the British colonies. Before, he was relatively nothing. No one knew about him since England was essentially the entire United Kingdom. Not anymore.

Just having power wasn't enough though. Scotland hated England and wanted the younger nation to suffer the pain that he had suffered when Britannia had died. It was all England's fault for that and he would pay for it, dearly. Scotland wanted to make England cry, to make England plead for death. It would make him feel a lot better. England deserved it after all.

Wales pursed his lips. He didn't think that Scotland would have actually hurt England. No. Actually, he could believe that. Scotland did _hate _England after all. It was for a legit reason too... Right?

Northern Ireland bent down to pick up the unconscious England, noticing how light his younger brother was. He could also feel the Brit's ribs poking out of his chest. The proud British man that he knew would have never done that to himself... Is England still the same man as before? Or was he now a broken and self pitying boy...?

**-End of Chapter 3-**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary** - England felt his life collapsing right in front of his eyes ever since America's independence. He didn't think that his life could get any worse, but of course, he was dead wrong. USUK, Yaoi, OOC, Dark themes (Rape, Envy, Depression, Abuse, and Incest).

**Pairings - **UsUk, GerIta, forced ScotUk, Spamano, and more to be determined or altered.

**Warnings - **Yaoi, OOC (it can't be helped), Rape, Abuse, Forced incest, Depression, Language, Angst, Memory Loss, and Sexual themes.

**Rating - **M. It's a yaoi after all, and a dark and depressing one at that. :-) It'll get better though!

**Author's notes - **Ugh, I apologize for the huge mess! I'm just so indecisive. ;-; I'm going to keep on writing the original story! xD I do have to warn though, this chapter may be a bit cheesy! I hope you guys enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter 4- Goodbye England... **

England awoke and the first thing he noticed was it was dark out already. The full moon was shining high and proud in the dark sky that was littered with millions of tiny stars. How could it have been dark already and why the hell was he outside?

England gave a slight frown as he strained to think back on what happened. He remembered sitting at home, drinking some tea, when someone knocked on his door. Someone had knocked on his door...? England didn't remember who had visited him.

The second thing that England noticed was that he was tied to a rock with ropes coiled tightly around his lithe frame, causing his upper half to lose some blood flow. Great. He could barely breathe correctly with how tight the ropes were.

"What the...?" England said to himself as he struggled against the ropes. Where the hell was he anyways? Did he get kidnapped? If so why? And who had brought him here?

"Oh, looks like our little brother has decided to wake up," a cold, condescending voice spoke up.

England turned his head towards the direction of the voice... Of course. It was Scotland.

"Hello England," another voice spoke up.

_'Northern Ireland...'_ England narrowed his eyes and struggled against his restraints in another futile effort to break free. He could feel his upper body tingling and the ragged ropes dig into his thin frame.

"Where the hell am I?" England asked, his voice deathly calm.

"Stonehenge," Scotland answered.

Even though it was quite dark out, England could make the shadows of three people. Three... Meaning that Wales was here too.

"Why did you bring me here?" England questioned, using one of his restrained hands to try to pick at the thick ropes. He knew that it wouldn't work, but it couldn't hurt to try.

"To perform a spell of course," Scotland answered, his voice nonchalant and smooth. "We're going to erase your memory of ever being a nation."

England's emerald green eyes widened with shock. He was not expecting that as an answer. "What?!"

"After the spell, you'll forget that you were ever a nation to begin with."

"Why... Why are you doing this?" England hissed out, struggling against the restraints with new found strength. He wasn't going to let Scotland erase his memory. Never. No... Wait. Maybe he did want this... To not have to remember all the pain and self-hate that he had felt. England didn't want to have to remember his past nor have to remember America leaving him. Maybe it wasn't so bad to be a blank slate... But what would Scotland do to him there afterwards? Kill him? Torture him? Leave him in the streets to fend for himself?

"Because we hate you," Scotland answered, coldly.

England winced. Well that hurt.

"You're immature and naive. You prioritize your feelings over your responsibilities. You're too sensitive. You're a little boy not a man. You don't deserve to be the British Empire. You also don't deserve a good life for what you have done to us," Scotland answered, his voice cold and condescending.

_'What I've done to them?_' England was confused. "What...? What do you mean by what I've done you?"

_SLAP! _

England felt his head snap back as the calloused, warm hand came in contact with his soft, pale flesh. Pain made its way through his body as he shut his eyes to not allow any tears to slide through.

"You should know already," Scotland sneered.

"I really don't-"

England was cut off by off by a fist against his cheek. He felt the bones crack on impact as Scotland's fingernails drew blood. At this point, tears leaked through England's eyes as pain overtook his body.

"Stop it Scotland," Wales spoke up. "Remember, the spell? You can do whatever to him after the spell sets down."

"He's just so bloody annoying," Scotland answered, grabbing onto England's face with a rough, calloused hand. "So bloody annoying."

Wales gave a sigh. "Scottie, you have all the time later. Plus, once the spell is done, whatever you do to England will have more of a reaction since you'll be able to break him a lot easier. England is stubborn because of his memories, but what would happen when you take them away? He'll submit to you easier."

Scotland smirked. "That's true..."

"Wales..." England hissed, attempting to bite Scotland's hand. "When I get out of these ropes, I'll-"

"No you won't," Scotland let go of England's cheek and sneered. "You're too weak anyways. Look at how thin you are."

England bit his lip in frustration. "Scotland... What's your fucking problem? I missed the days when you weren't like this. What caused you to become so cruel?!"

Scotland felt outrage at England's comment. The Briton was the very reason why the old Scotland was gone! "Shut your mouth. I don't have any problems. You're the one who has problems!"

Scotland wanted to hit England again, but he restrained himself. He could always break the British man later. He had all the time in the world for that after the initial plans were complete.

England inwardly cringed as Scotland stepped closer to him. The red-head grabbed onto his chin and gave it a small stroke before whispering, "Goodnight England."

Before England could even reply, Scotland landed a hard hit on the other's temple, causing the sandy-blonde to pass out.

"Pathetic," Scotland spat.

Wales gave an uncertain glance at England and then at Scotland.

"Do we start the spell now?" Northern Ireland asked, a bit tired of waiting.

"No, not yet," Scotland replied. "We have to wait until it's exactly midnight to initiate the spell."

"What time is it now?" Northern Ireland asked.

"I'm guessing 11:58," Scotland answered. "You guys know the spell right?"

"Yeah, we went over it," Northern Ireland answered before turning to Wales who was right next to him. "Right?"

"Yeah, I know it," Wales replied. "So, do we like get in a circle around England?"

"Yeah," Scotland answered, motioning for them to get closer. "We need to link arms and start the chant in around a minute."

Wales gave a nod and stepped towards Scotland, almost tripping on a rock along the way. Great. If he had fallen, then who knows what would have happened.

Scotland raised his arms and Wales grabbed onto Scotland's hand.

"Seamus, get over here," Scotland spoke up. "It's almost time."

"Yeah, sorry..." Northern Ireland headed towards his two brothers and linked hands with both of them.

"Alright, start the spell now," Scotland commanded.

"_Delere memoriam vitae_," Wales recited, his voice loud and clear.

_"Delere memoriam vitae,"_ Northern Ireland repeated after his brother.

Scotland shut his eyes and focused his energy on his words. _"Delere memoriam vitae."_

Together, they chanted the spell until a bright burst of light, which came from the full moon, flooded the Stonehenge, focused right on the unconscious body of England.

_"Delere memoriam vitae,_" the three chanted in sync, their voices mixing into one.

The bright light progressively got bright and more saturated, causing the three brothers to shut their eyes in order to not be blinded.

_"Delere memoriam vitae!" _

The bright light dissipated with a large explosion of energy and all three brothers promptly passed out, slumping onto the cool grass.

* * *

Scotland woke up with a massive headache, a sharp, pounding pain in his temple. He clutched his head and tried to ease the pain down. Minutes flew by until the pain was bearable and he could actually focus on his surroundings.

Scotland looked around. He noticed that was around noon time, the sun was high in the sky and there was a cool breeze blowing by. He also noticed that the other three were soundly unconscious. So... He was the only one who had woken up.

With shaky legs, he stood up and stepped over to the unconscious England, nearly tripping on his own feet along the way. England's facial expression was extremely odd... It was almost peaceful in a way. England _never_ looked that that. Most of the time, England would be glaring at someone or frowning, even in his sleep. Scotland had never seen his brother so carefree... He hated it. Scotland didn't want England to look peaceful. He wanted England to be crying and pleading.

"S-Scotland?" a voice from behind him called. Wales sat up, rubbing at his head. "Ugh, I have a massive headache."

"Yeah," Scotland answered, turning to Wales. "Same. The spell took a lot out of us. I just hope that it worked."

"Weird though," Wales said. "Don't you think that there would be people who would have seen the light explosion? Why are we still alone?"

Scotland gave a smirk. "We're in the middle of nowhere. I doubt people would have cared anyways. They know about magic and the Stonehenge happens to be one of the most magical places in the world."

"Uh... Did the spell work?" another voice cut in. Northern Ireland was blinking in an odd fashion, his eyes still disoriented from the bright light from hours ago.

"We'll see," Scotland replied, stepping over to England and kicking him in the shin.

"Ngn..." England turned his head and furrowed his brow.

"Tch." Scotland dug his nails into the raw cuts on England's cheek, drawing blood from the scarred cheeks.

Arthur's eyes shot open and immediately, he tried to put a hand to his cheek, but was stopped by the restraints. What the...? Why was he restrained?

"Mornin'," Scotland said with a smirk.

Arthur stared at the gorgeous, red-haired man in front of him with a confused expression. "Uhm, morning? Did you just dig your nails into my cheek?"

Scotland smirked. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Uh..." Arthur was blatantly confused. He glanced around. Why the hell was he at the Stonehenge and why the hell were there three people with him? And why the hell was he the only one tied against a rock?!

"Oh, you're awake," Wales said, stepping towards England. His steps were shaky and not fluid, thanks to the spell. It drained a lot out of him and from his brothers too.

"Yeah..." Arthur trailed off before narrowing his eyes at the three brothers. "Who the hell are you people?"

"So it worked," Northern Ireland spoke up with a smirk.

Scotland nodded with a sneer. "Of course it would."

Arthur blinked in confusion. What were they talking about? "Answer my question! And what worked?"

Scotland glared at Arthur. "None of you're business."

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. "Just answer my bloody question! Who the hell are you people?!"

"I don't know," Scotland replied. "Who are we really?"

Wales gave a laugh. "No idea. Who do you think we are?"

Northern Ireland gave a smirk.

_'They're making fun of me... I know it.'_ Arthur narrowed his eyes at the three. "If you're not going to answer my question then fine. At least, get these ropes off of me!"

Scotland kneeled down and roughly grabbed Arthur's cheek. "You can't tell me what to do. I don't want to get those ropes off of you, you little brat."

Arthur struggled against Scotland's death grip on his cheek. What the fuck was this guy's problem?! Arthur didn't even know him and yet the asshole acted as if they were sworn enemies... Well, maybe they were. Arthur didn't remember anything, after all.

"Let me go, you bloody wanker!" Arthur hissed.

Scotland laughed. "So fierce, eh? I wonder how long that'll last."

"What are you-"

Arthur was cut off by Scotland's fingernails digging into his already scarred cheek. Fuck.

Scotland gave a smirk as he dug his fingernails in until he could feel Arthur's cheekbone below all the tissue.

Arthur shut his eyes from the harsh, stingy pain. He focused on his breathing to slow the pain. What kind of sadistic mother fucker is this guy?!

"S-Stop," Arthur whispered. "W-What's your p-problem?"

_'You're the problem.'_ Scotland stared at the blood that was starting to flow down Arthur's cheeks. It was a good look for the Englishman. It really brought out the paleness of the man's skin. He gave a small chuckle as he spread open the cuts, tearing away at the already cut tissue with his fingers. He could already see the white of the bone as well as all the inner blood vessels spewing out fresh, crimson blood. What a beautiful sight...

Wales bit his lip as he watched England struggle in pain. He couldn't do anything about it... Well, more like he wouldn't do anything about it. In truth, he didn't want to know how Scotland would react if he were to intervene. It probably wouldn't be pretty.

"Beg for me to stop," Scotland said. "Then I'll stop. And maybe if you're nicer to me, I'll let go of the ropes."

At this point, Arthur was struggling to keep awake from all the pain as well as the numbness of his lower body from the restraint of the ropes. There was nothing to do now but submit in order to stop the pain. He really didn't want to submit to the red-head, but what else was there to do? He didn't want to rot here.

"P-Please stop," Arthur breathed out. "P-Please..."

Scotland gave a smirk, but kept digging his nails even further into Arthur's left cheek. Blood as well as ripped tissue was spilling out of Arthur's cheek as Scotland pushed his rather sharp nails even deeper.

"Please!" Arthur cried out. "Stop! Please!"

Wales gazed down at the green grass, making note of every blade of grass. He was never a fan of violence and gore. He only hoped that Scotland would withdraw soon.

Northern Ireland crossed his arms and leaned against one of the rocks. He kept his gaze on England and Scotland. It was a rather disturbing sight, seeing Arthur's cheek get split open, but what was there to do about it? Once Scotland gets his mind on something, it's near impossible to change his mind.

After another few agonizing minutes of Arthur crying out, Scotland finally relented and pulled his hand away. He could see the bloodied tissue underneath his nail. Well, that was a fun experience... Well, for Scotland that is. The red-head loved the feeling of superiority he had over the smaller man. He also loved the way England's face scrunched up in pain. It was... almost arousing to him.

Arthur felt tears drip down, the salty tears irritating his ripped cheek even further. Fuck... Fuck. Fuck. He couldn't stop crying.

"Take the restraints off," Scotland said, turning to Northern Ireland.

Northern Ireland gave a nod, stepping over to Arthur and untying the ropes from the younger man's body. He then grabbed Arthur and heaved him over his shoulder without any regard to England's comfort.

Arthur shut his eyes and slumped onto Northern Ireland's body. He didn't even have the strength to struggle...

Scotland gave a smirk. "Let's go back to my home. Then, we can let the fun begin..."

Those were the last words Arthur heard before he blacked out.

**-End of Chapter 4-**

* * *

**Author's Note** - Alright, so just one thing I'll mention in case you guys are confused. xD England is now referred to as Arthur since he no longer has memories of ever being a nation. He still is England though.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary** - England felt his life collapsing right in front of his eyes ever since America's independence. He didn't think that his life could get any worse, but of course, he was dead wrong. USUK, abusive ScotEng, Yaoi, Dark themes (Memory Loss, Rape, Envy, Abuse, and Incest).

**Pairings - **USUK, abusive ScotEng, GerIta, Spamano, and more to be determined or altered.

**Genre - **Romance (it's a yaoi) and Angst (the warnings can tell you more).

**Warnings - **Yaoi, OOC (it can't be helped), Rape, Abuse, Forced incest, Depression, Language, Angst, Memory Loss, and Sexual themes.

**Rating - **M. It's a yaoi, after all, and a dark and depressing one at that. :-) It'll get better though! I promise!

**Author's notes - **Alright, there's a timeskip for this chapter! I also just re-uploaded this chapter. I've decided that the older rewrite one was a bit repetitive, so I decided to change it up a bit!

**Chapter 5 - Pain Is A Never Ending Cycle**

**-Five year time skip-**

Arthur pulled his legs into his chest as he stared at the dirty floor with a disgruntled expression. Five years... It has been five years since Arthur woke up without any memory. Five years since Arthur has been outside... Five years since Arthur has felt like a he was a free man.

Arthur didn't really even know if he had ever been a free man in his past life. He had no memories after all, and even after five years, he still had no clue who as to he was. Hell, he didn't even know if his name was really Arthur! He knew nothing. He had nothing. Well... that wasn't necessarily true.

Arthur did have a lone memory, but it didn't exactly pertain to him. It was a memory of a cute, young boy playing around in a grassy meadow. The boy, who was apparently named America, was around six or so years of age. He was just like any other six year old: short, chubby, and adorable. His hair was a short and golden brown with one strand that defied stubbornly gravity. His large, innocent looking eyes were a pretty cerulean-blue color. They twinkled with kindness, affection, and adoration. His full, pink lips were also curved into a cute smile. His small form was dressed in a light blue dress tied with a red ribbon. The boy was the very definition of adorable.

This one memory gave Arthur some hope about his past life, but it was overshadowed by his fear and paranoia. Arthur knew that there was no way that he was able to get out of the prison that he has been locked in for the past five years. Well, the place wasn't exactly a prison... It was much, much worse. He was stuck in the home of Allistor and his two brothers, working as a both a servant and a plaything to continuously break.

Arthur bit his lip as he felt anger and frustration well up inside him. He hated being trapped here with no where to go. He hated how much of a weakling he was. He could never fight back. He also couldn't escape, even if he desperately wanted to. He didn't have the strength nor the courage... not anymore.

Arthur thought back on what had exactly happened the first time he had woken up, five years ago. For some odd reason, he had woken up tied against a rock in the middle of the Stonehenge in England. He wasn't alone though. Allistor and his two brothers, Dylan and Seamus, were there with him too. At first, Arthur was relieved, thinking that they would help him get out of the ropes, but he soon found out that he was wrong.

Right off the bat, Allistor hated him with a burning passion. Arthur could guess that he had prior experience with the man, but he just didn't know what it was given that he knew absolutely nothing about himself. Arthur was extremely confused and it he had only gotten more confused when Allistor screamed at him and dug his sharp fingernails into a cut into Arthur's left cheek. Sadly, that was only the beginning. Allistor would continue to hurt him even more, each time entailing more force and more ways to make Arthur feel worthless.

Allistor was extremely creative and that was the worst part about being stuck with the red-haired man. Because of Allistor's rather colorful mind, Arthur had been left with severe injuries all over his body as well as a sense of isolation from everyone and everything. One time, Allistor had decided to conduct an experiment on him. The man wanted to see if it was possible to cook someone from the inside out. Because of this, Arthur was left with third-degree burns in his nether regions. It hurt like hell and Arthur could never forget the feeling of being burned alive. This event had happened over three years ago, but Arthur never really recovered from it. Well, mentally that is. Somehow, Arthur did manage to heal from the burning, even though burnt tissue wasn't supposed to heal on its own.

Arthur felt tears rise up in his emerald eyes as he shut his eyes and lay his head onto his bony knees for comfort. The burning, while it was a painful event, didn't compare to the first thing that Allistor had done to him. The man, along with his brothers, had taken him home and commenced in marking Arthur as his. It was an event that Arthur could still vividly remember. Arthur so desperately wanted to forget it, but he couldn't. It refused to leave him be. That one event had changed Arthur forever... and he knew that he would never recover from it.

* * *

**-Five years ago-**

_Arthur awoke to being tied, butt-naked, against a bedpost with his arms raised high above his head. He shivered as he felt the cold air come in contact with his nude body. What... What the fuck was going on...? Where was he?_

_He raked his head, trying to remember what had happened before. The Stonehenge... Red-haired man... Nail digging until it hit bone... And the phrase: "Let's go back to my home. Then, we can let the fun begin..."_

_Arthur frowned and struggled against the post, but he was hopelessly stuck. He couldn't move his arms at all. They were tightly strapped to the bedpost, to the point that he could barely even feel them anymore._

_"Hm, I see you've finally woken up," a deep, masculine voice spoke up. "Tch. Took you long enough."_

_Arthur turned his head towards the voice and was met with the sight of a tall, handsome, red-haired man sneering at him. That man had brought him home...? What the...? Why? Arthur was beyond confused. Why would this man strip him and tie him up? Was he some sort of sadistic murderer or something?_

_"W-Why did you bring me here?" Arthur asked, his voice shaky and uneven. He composed himself, breathing in and out slowly, in an attempt to cool down his nerves. He then glared daggers at the red-haired man before exclaiming, "And why the hell am I naked?!"_

_Scotland gave a deep chuckle in response. It was quite hilarious seeing England acting so much like himself even without his memories. Scotland wondered how long it would last before England, or Arthur, would be reduced to a broken, submissive little boy. He couldn't wait for that day to come. It would be the accomplishment of a lifetime for him to completely control England, the original British Empire. _

_"To have some fun with you, of course. After all, you are my new plaything," Scotland replied, his tone of voice casual but his emerald eyes betrayed him. They gleamed with fierce hatred and glee. _

_Arthur felt sudden panic and disbelief at those words and at the man's smug face. He felt his heart pound heavily against his chest as cold sweat formed on his brow. He was scared, even if he wasn't going to directly admit it. What the hell did the man mean by his new plaything?! And was the man really going to do something to him? "W-What are you talking about?! What are you going to do to me? I... I don't even know you!"_

_"But, I know who you are, Artie. Heh, you'll see what's coming for you soon. Be patient, will ya'?" Scotland gave Arthur a smirk as he stepped over to his plush bed before picking up a sharp object. It was a knife... A thin, sharp knife with a leather hand that could be easily used to slice up meat... or in this case, human flesh._

_Arthur's eyes widened in surprise when his vision was met with the light gleaming of the thin, sharp metal of the knife. He felt his heart pound a billion times faster as he desperately tried to release himself from the restraints. That man was going to use that knife on him?! No! Arthur didn't want that! No way in hell was he about to be cut up like a slab of meat! He wasn't going to allow that man anywhere near him!_

_"It's no use struggling," Scotland said, calmly, as he slowly advanced towards Arthur. "You're stuck here with me... And anyways, if you do escape, where would you go? You'll rot on the streets."_

_"Fuck you!" Arthur blurted out in a fit of fear._

_Scotland raised an elegant eyebrow before he laughed, maniacally. "I wouldn't say that if I were you, Artie. You never know... It may happen, although, I'll be the one fucking you instead."_

_Arthur furrowed his brow and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything else. He was royally screwed and he knew it. Was he really going to die here tonight? He didn't want to die tonight! He wanted to find out who he really way! It was too soon to have his life taken away from him!_

_Arthur flinched when he felt a cold, calloused hand grabbed onto his sore, scarred cheek. He was forced him to look straight into Allistor's dark, emerald eyes._

_"You look so much like her..." Scotland whispered as he stroked Arthur's cheek with his rough thumb._

_'What...? Like who? Who's he talking about?' Arthur was blatantly confused and it showed on his face._

_Immediately, Scotland felt anger well up inside him as he stared at the sandy-blonde haired man. The Briton looked too much like Britannia for his liking. He looked and acted almost exactly like her. They both had the same facial expressions as well as similar personalities. As of right now, Arthur looked exactly like Britannia with the kicked, puppy look that he currently had on his face. His emerald eyes were wide and shiny, his lips were slightly parted, and his face was flushed. His mother looked exactly the same when she was confused... Their looks were too similar to one another... and Scotland hated it. "I can't fucking stand you. You don't deserve to look like her!"_

_"What are-"_

_Arthur's head smashed into the wooden bedpost as Scotland aimed an angry punch at the younger man's face. It smashed Arthur's jaw with the brute force of a elephant, causing the bones in Arthur's jay to shatter on impact._

_Tears slid out of Arthur's eyes as he felt the sharp, piercing pain spread throughout his body. He knew that his jaw had broken and that he most likely wouldn't get it checked out anytime soon. Well, great. Just his luck. _

_"You little bitch," Scotland hissed, tightening his hold on the knife. "Don't you fucking dare talk back to me! Shut up!"_

_Arthur couldn't reply even if he wanted to now. His jaw was broken and it hurt like hell. The pain was overtaking his body, yet he didn't seem to be anywhere near unconsciousness. If anything, he was wide awake, experiencing agonizing pain that rendered his body limp and useless._

_Scotland smirked when he saw that Arthur wasn't answering. Well, the sandy-blonde probably couldn't answer anyways given that half of his face was wrecked. "How docile you are when you don't talk. I like that a lot better."_

_Arthur shut his eyes and attempted to stop the flow of tears. He wasn't going to cry. He knew that it would only bring the Scottish man more pleasure if he did._

_"Hm... What to do now?" Scotland asked, more to himself than to Arthur. "I wonder..."_

_'Don't do anything... Please... I beg you!' _

_"Oh, I got it," Scotland said with a dark gleam in his emerald eyes. He positioned the knife so it touched Arthur's bare and quivering torso. "You're mine to play with, got it? And for proof of it..."_

_Arthur's eyes widened unnaturally large when he felt the cool metal of the blade dig into his skin. No. No. No. This was not happening..._

_"Scream for me," Scotland whispered as he pushed the knife deep into Arthur's chest, cutting through the soft, delicate skin with relative ease._

_Arthur didn't even think that it was possible for him to be in more pain, but he was dead wrong. His flesh was being sliced through by the knife and it hurt like a bitch. He couldn't even hear himself screaming in pain. Doubled with that was the broken jaw. Him screaming only made the broken bones stir even more._

_Scotland felt pure, sadistic glee as he heard Arthur's screams of pain. For whatever reason, it was arousing to him. He felt in control and that feeling brought him endless bless. Plus, he was able to hurt the brother that he so dearly despised. England deserved what was coming to him. He was the whole reason as to why their old, happy family was now gone! It was all England's fault! All of it!_

_Scotland cut through Arthur's flesh, attempting to create a large, capital S on the Englishman's torso. It was the first and foremost thing that Scotland was going to do. It showed his dominance over the younger man. Arthur was his toy to play with and this marking clearly showed it. Arthur was his... and his alone._

_Arthur dug his fingernails into the carpet floor as he bit his lip to stop from screaming. He didn't want to give the red-haired man anymore satisfaction._

_"You're mine, you got it?" Scotland whispered into Arthur's ear. "Mine alone."_

_Arthur stubbornly shook his head. No way. He was his own person! He isn't owned by anyone!_

_"It's cute how you act as if you have a choice," Scotland laughed, withdrawing the knife as he finished slicing up Arthur. He then took to staring at the crimson liquid that was currently spilling out of Arthur's wounds. The thick, red liquid was a beautiful, wondrous color and Scotland loved it to the core. It was the color of life, of love, and of death. _

_Arthur felt his consciousness start to leave him as more blood spilled out of his bloodied body. He only hoped that he would die after this, but of course, luck wasn't on his side..._

* * *

Tears slid down Arthur's cheeks in full blast as he started to sob uncontrollably. His thin frame shook as he cried his heart out. He hated his current life. What did he ever do to deserve this? Arthur didn't know and he didn't even think that he wanted to know...

Life sucked. Arthur just wanted to die already, but somehow he was still holding up fine. Well, not exactly fine. His body was torn apart, inside and out. His dignity as well as any traces of happiness obliterated. Arthur had nothing. He had nothing... but Allistor.

Allistor was Arthur's master. Allistor nearly dictated all of Arthur's life, ranging from the food he ate to the air he breathed. If Allistor told Arthur to drown himself, Arthur would do it. It wasn't out of love or dedication... It was out of fear. Allistor controlled all of Arthur. Arthur belonged to Allistor and Arthur accepted it. There was no reason to fight. It wouldn't bring anything but more unwanted pain. Arthur already had enough of that.

Arthur had lost his will to fight ages ago. He had also lost any positive feelings that he may have had before. Arthur didn't know happiness or joy. The only thing that he knew was pain, both physical and psychological. If anything, Arthur was an expert at pain, but a novice at everything else. Arthur didn't know true happiness, but he craved it. He wanted it with all his heart. Even just a taste of the wondrous feeling would be fine with him.

_'I'm such a bloody, pathetic git...'_ Arthur eased his breathing as he lay down on his old, worn down "bed". It wasn't exactly a bed, but some straw and a thin blanket. But, Arthur would take what he could get.

He shut his eyes and shifted his weight, feeling some of his fresher injuries open. It hurt, but the feeling wasn't a sharp pain that Arthur so dreadfully despised. Instead, it was a slow, dull pain. Arthur was used to that feeling, so it didn't really bother him.

_'Sleep... Please...'_ Arthur forced himself to stop crying as he pulled the thin blanket over his malnourished body. He loved sleep. That was the only time that he could ever not feel pain, even if it only lasted for a little while...

**-End of Chapter 5-**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary** - England felt his life collapsing right in front of his eyes ever since America's independence. He didn't think that his life could get any worse, but of course, he was dead wrong. USUK, abusive ScotEng, Yaoi, Dark themes (Memory Loss, Rape, Envy, Abuse, and Incest).

**Pairings - **USUK, abusive ScotEng, GerIta, Spamano, and more to be determined or altered.

**Genre - **Romance (it's a yaoi) and Angst (the warnings can tell you more).

**Warnings - **Yaoi, OOC (it can't be helped), Rape, Abuse, Forced incest, Depression, Language, Angst, Memory Loss, and Sexual themes.

**Rating - **M. It's a yaoi, after all, and a dark and depressing one at that. :-) It'll get better though! I promise!

**Author's notes - **I had fun writing this chapter! xD I hope you guys enjoy it just as much as I do!

* * *

**Chapter 6 - I Will Never Forget...**

_"Hey Arthur, you there?" America banged on the door of England's house in London. He had finally found the courage to actually visit England, even though it has been over a year since the war... since the last time he had seen the blonde Briton... "You there?!"_

_America felt cold wind blow and he shivered. He was completely soaked from the pouring rain. For some odd reason, it just wouldn't let up. It seemed as if nature was crying... It was either that or... England was crying. After all, a nation's feelings do have dramatic effects on the weather of the land that they represented._

_America's heart clenched in guilt when he thought of England crying. It was most likely his fault if England was crying right now. But, his ex-guardian was stronger than that, right? Surely he must be doing fine. One would hope..._

_"Arthur! England! Iggy! Open up! Hello? It's pretty rainy out here and I'm getting soaked! Let us in before we drown!" America yelled again, banging harder on the mahogany door. "Open up!"_

_"He's probably not home," France spoke up, laying his soaked hand on America's equally soaked shoulder. "Or, he just doesn't want to answer. Hm, let me try, Amerique."_

_America gave a small frown as he wiped the water off of his glasses. "Fine..."_

_France stepped up to England's front door, wiping his wet hands on his shirt, before knocking on it, careful not to hit hard enough to bruise his hand. "Angleterre! Bonjour, it's moi, France! I'm here to conquer you!"_

_America waited another few seconds in the rain as France kept on spouting out random insults to England. He soon got a bit impatient and decided for himself that England probably wasn't home. "He's not answering. He probably isn't home..."_

_"Hm," France pursed his lips before he grabbed the hand of the door and pushed. He knew that it wouldn't work, but it couldn't hurt to try... To his surprise, the door opened and almost immediately, he was assaulted by a horrible stench. It smelled of blood, rotten eggs, and death. The Frenchman couldn't help but step back. _

_"What's wrong France?" America asked, tilting his head in confusion. "Are you afraid? If so, then don't be! The hero's here with you!"_

_France shook his head. "It's not that... It's just that Angleterre's home smells like something had died in it."_

_America gave an excited grin. "You don't think that he's conducting zombie experiments? If he is then... I'm totally in!" _

_"Wait Amerique-"_

_America practically ran into house only to stop when he entered the door. His eyes widened and he held his breath in. He recognized that smell from the war that had only happened a year ago. It was a dead body alright. It was probably one that had been rotting for weeks without anyone's notice. Could it possibly have been...? No, that was impossible. It couldn't have been England. It was probably a dead raccoon that had made its way into England's home. But then, why was the door unlocked...?_

_"I don't think that you'd want to go in there, Amerique. You'd come out smelling horrible," France spoke up. _

_America turned to look at France and motioned for the blonde-haired man to come in with him. "Don't you want to know what the smell is...? It's a dead body for sure... I just want to know if England's alright. And plus, it's shelter from the rain!"_

_France hesitated for a moment, but in the end, he entered the house with America._

_America was greeted with darkness. The house was so dreary and dead looking to the point that America felt chills run up his back. _

_America ignored the cold feeling, telling himself that it was nothing to worry about. He then turned and went into the kitchen, looking around for anything that indicated a dead body. There was nothing in the kitchen except for a batch of old, rotting scones that had turned black and had tufts of fuzzy mold growing out of them. There was also a half-full tea cup that apparently housed some little tadpole things... What were those again? Mosquito babies or something? Whatever the case, it was a bit disturbing. _

_"I don't think that Angleterre's been here for a long time," France said, holding his nose as he spoke. _

_'He hasn't been here. England... He would always keep his house pristine and clean. He'd always lecture me about cleaning my home too...' America shook his head at those old memories and headed out the kitchen. Maybe he should check England's room? _

_"Amerique, where are you going now?" France questioned with a half-disgusted, half-worried expression on his handsome face._

_"England's room," America answered before he climbed up the spiral staircase. It took a few minutes for him to finally make it to the top and by then he was panting. How the hell did England manage to climb this thing?! Or maybe it was because America was just eating too much hamburgers... _

_"The smell's getting stronger," France spoke up. _

_America winced and held his breath as he headed towards the room from which the horrid smell was emitting from. It was getting stronger and stronger by the second. America almost felt as if he could faint, but he wouldn't. He had to know why England seemed to have abandoned his home. Judging from the rotted scones, it seems as if the home wasn't in use for over half a year. Scones couldn't turn that black, could they? _

_America stood in front of the door, his hand trembling as he tried to build the courage to open the door. He wanted to know what was inside the room, but at the same time he didn't... What if... What if England was in there? _

_"Amerique," France said, stepping next to the shaking American. "There's no way that it could be Angleterre's dead, rotting body in there... He's too strong of a man to kill himself and I doubt anyone else would have managed to kill him. After all, a nation can only vanquish a nation. Even then, it's rather hard. Don't be afraid." _

_America gave France a shaking grin. "I know that! I'm a hero after all! I'm not afraid at all and I know that there's no way for someone to have killed England!" _

_"Open the door then," France said. _

_America gave an uncertain nod before he wiped the fake grin off of his face. "I have a question though... Is it possible for nations to commit suicide?"_

_France gave America an uncertain look before he answered, "Yeah, it's possible, but then again, it's hard to accomplish. If the nation does manage to commit suicide, then a new nation will be reborn to take the place of the deceased one. The process of being reborn may take years though. Plus, the new nation usually starts off with a blank slate. It's a whole new personification that takes the place of the older, deceased nation."_

_"Oh..." America trailed off. "Are you the original France then?"_

_France nodded before giving America a dazzling smile. "Of course, Amerique!" _

_"Oh, okay. One last question. What happens if we disappear? We don't come back right?"_

_"Disappearing is a whole new thing. Nations disappear when their land is gone or taken over and their people are dead. They never come back afterwards," France replied. "But, some nations don't ever die. Like Prussia... Somehow."_

_"Thanks. I think I understand it more now..." America trailed off as he put his shaky hand onto the door knob and with a swoop of courage, pushed the door wide open. _

_The smell was about ten times worse inside the room. From the outside of the room, it smelled strongly of old, rotting meat, but from the inside of the room, it smelled much, much worse. It had an almost sickly sweet smell to it, along with various other horrible smells. America could smell rotten eggs, rotten meat, the sewers, and just about anything bad. He could practically feel the smell seeping into his skin, making his body tingle. It wasn't a pleasant feeling at all. If anything, it was a traumatizing feeling that gave America a feeling of helplessness. _

_America glanced around, noticing a thin body wrapped around in thick blankets on the large, king-sized bed. There also seemed to be pill bottles strung all across the plush bed._

_France held his nose even harder and entered the room. He turned to America and motioned for him to come in with him. _

_America braced himself for what was coming and stepped into the room and right to the bed. The smell was coming off in waves. It was almost suffocating. _

_France winced and coughed as he stepped towards America. He stared at the body wrapped in the thick blankets. He couldn't see who it was, but was it possible that it was England? It did seem to be as tall as England was and around the same shape too... England. Did he really kill himself? Would he even do that?_

_America felt his hands start to tremble as he placed a hand on top of the blankets, ready to turn the body over. He hesitated. What if it really was England? America didn't want to see the dead, blank face of his old caretaker. He didn't want to know that it was his fault for it. But... he knew that it was his fault for it. _

_"Do it, Amerique... It's now or never. You've gone this far and there's no reason to stop now," France spoke up, his dark blue eyes filled with sympathy and sorrow._

_"Yeah, you're right..." America trailed off and gulped. He inwardly calmed himself down, then he turned the body over. What greeted him... he could never forget. _

_It was England's dead, decomposing face staring up at him with glazed, blank green orbs that were sunken into his head. His skin was waxy and varied in color from dark black to puke green. His normally shiny, soft sandy-blonde hair was falling off in thick clumps, along with pieces of rotting flesh. His normally pink lips were a dead black and his body was bloated, yet stiff as stone. There were also colonies of maggots wiggling through the orifices of England's dead, decaying corpse. The blonde Briton wasn't alive... not anymore. And he hadn't seemed to be alive for months by now..._

_In shock, America dropped to his knees and started to shake uncontrollably. He couldn't believe it. England was dead. England was really dead. The body of his old caretaker was staring him right in the face... _

_France's eyes widened as he stared at the dead, bloated body of his old rival. England... He then stared at the pill bottles that were all around England's corpse. "Angleterre is dead... He... He must have overdosed on drugs. He's really dead... And judging from the body, he has been dead for a long time..."_

_America felt like puking and that's exactly what he did. He emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor before he felt numb. Completely numb. _

_"Amerique!" France's dark-blue eyes widened as he bent down to hold onto the trembling American. _

_"He's dead... He's dead because of me..." America rasped out before unconsciousness overtook him._

"No!" America exclaimed as he woke up in cold sweat. He sat up and a put a hand to his damp locks. He... He just had to dream about that again... He just had to reminded of England's death for the millionth time! It would never leave him alone! "Dammit! Why do I keep on remembering his death?! I want to forget it, not remember it!"

America felt crystal clear tears rise up in his cerulean-blue eyes, but he made no move to stop them. He wanted to let go of his feelings. He was never one to hide them and it's not like anyone would see him anyways...

"I-I'm sorry..." America sobbed out, blindly grabbing on his bed for a comforting toy. He felt the soft plush of a teddy bear come in contact with his hand and he grabbed it, holding onto it as if his life depended on it. The bear was worn out and old, but still soft to touch. It was one of the first gifts that England had given to him and the one that he cherished the most. It would always calm him, and even after centuries, it still smelled of the Englishman. It smelled faintly of roses and Earl Grey tea.

America grabbed onto the plush toy tightly and shut his eyes, ignoring how his tears wet his pillow. "I miss you, England..."

* * *

"Arthur, get your ass over here, right now!" Allistor's deep, booming voice called out from inside of the mansion.

Almost immediately, Arthur's eyes snapped open and he stepped out of his bed, which consisted of a thin blanket with some straw as padding. He then ran towards Allistor's voice, ignoring the pain from his fresh wounds opening. It hurt, but it would hurt even more if he left Allistor waiting.

Arthur burst through the door and smashed right into Dylan, who was just walking by.

_'Dammit...'_ Arthur flushed red in shame as he bowed his head down. He wasn't supposed to do that! He had harmed Dylan and that called for a harsh punishment... Harming an inhabitant of the house was something akin to murdering a young child in this place. Arthur knew that his clumsy mistake would cost him an arm and leg, literally. But... whatever the punishment was, Arthur would endure it without question. He was taught to never question anything or anyone.

"It's fine, Arthur," Wales said, nursing his hurt shoulder, as he gave the sandy-haired man a kind, reassuring smile.

"N-No... It's not fine... I-I'm so sorry... Please... P-Please forgive me for my terrible a-actions towards y-you... I-I'll take my p-punishment n-now..." Arthur bowed his head further and shut his eyes, bracing for incoming pain. He had _harmed_ Dylan. This alone deserved punishment of the highest means.

Wales felt a part of his heart break. England has been reduced to a docile, submissive mess, hasn't he? Gone was the haughty, proud man who stood strong. Gone was the man who wasn't afraid to show his true feelings. Gone was a free human being. England was no longer England... He was now a caged bird who may never be set free.

Wales desperately wanted to help Arthur, but something was stopping him... that something being his fear.

As much as Wales hated to admit, he was afraid of Scotland. If it was even possible, Scotland had become even crueler than he had been before. Ever since Scotland had taken control of the British Empire in place of England, his temper had gotten a lot worse and just his attitude in general had worsened ten times over. Wales knew that the reason as to why Scotland was cruel was because of stress. Scotland was stressed out from all the work of carrying the Empire. It was entirely his fault though. Wales felt no sympathy towards his older brother.

Scotland had forced England to give over the Empire before proceeding to erase the memory of his younger brother. With England out of the way, Scotland had gotten the power that he had craved for the longest time... But was it really worth it? The power had gotten to Scotland's head. It made the red-head feel as if he was superior to everyone and everything. The stress from holding up the Empire had also made Scotland crave more dominance. Apparently, it gave the red-head relief when he was making England cry. Well, not exactly England... It was Arthur.

Arthur was an entirely different person. He was no England. England knew how to deal with stress since he was a hardened, experienced nation that had lived for over eight hundred years. Arthur, on the other hand, had no memories that made him England. He was just a simple human who didn't know anything. He was essentially, a clean slate. For Arthur to be experiencing all this pain without any idea as to why that is must be _horrible._ Wales felt bad, but he didn't know what to do. Arthur was constantly getting hurt, yet he was standing in the sidelines, watching. Sometimes, he'd even join when Scotland requested him to. Why couldn't he just say no...?

"Dylan?" Arthur asked, tilting his head to the side, as he peered at the strawberry-blonde through big, emerald eyes.

"It's fine. There's no reason to apologize. Now, go to Scotl- I mean Allistor before he does anything to you," Wales replied, breaking out of his thoughts, as he gave the smaller man a pained smile.

"Uh... Do you know where he is?" Arthur asked, his voice soft and uncertain.

"Kitchen," Wales replied.

"T-Thank you," Arthur replied, bowing his head again, before speeding off towards the kitchen.

Wales gave a small sigh before plopping down on the cool, leather couch. He only hoped that Scotland wouldn't try anything with Arthur today... But of course, that was only wishful thinking.

**-End of Chapter 6-**


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